Murderer
by xahra99
Summary: Assassins are not always assassins. Giovanni and Lorenzo discuss the future of Giovanni's sons. Set post-Lineage and after the first part of the game. Spoilers.One-shot. Complete.


Murderer

An Assassin's Creed 2 fan fiction by xahra99

"What will I do when you're gone, Giovanni?"

The question sounded simple. It was not.

Giovanni Auditore di Firenze turned away from the fire. "You will find other men," he said.

He watched Lorenzo consider the idea. The Medici patriarch lounged back in his chair, silhouetted against the looming skeleton of Brunelleschi's half-finished dome beyond the window. He was surrounded by luxury. The small room was paneled in rare wood and covered in tapestries which shut out the cold winter air. The fireplace that Giovanni leant on was carved from Tuscan marble.

Compared to the rest of the palazzo, Lorenzo's study was austere. The building was far more ornate than Giovanni's own home. The Assassin did not envy Lorenzo. If there was one thing he had learned in his profession, it was that wealth and power were transient things.

"You have sons." Lorenzo said at last.

"Who will be _bankers._"

"Pity."

"I don't want them to move in the shadows. I want them to walk in the light," Giovanni said. He picked at a smudge of dried blood on his sleeve. He wore white to honor his ancestors, but sometimes he wished that the Assassins could have chosen a color that wasn't so difficult to clean.

Lorenzo de'Medici glanced out of the window at the winter sun."These are dark times," he said. They both knew that he wasn't referring to the climate.

Giovanni pulled his thoughts away from the intricacies of laundry in twelfth century Syria. "When this is over, I would like to spend more time with my family."

Lorenzo looked at him quizzically.

"It'll soon be time for me to become what I always pretended. An honest banker."

"Is there such a thing?" Lorenzo, a banker himself, asked skeptically.

"Finance is more profitable than assassination," Giovanni shrugged.

"I understand. So be it. But I will be sorry to lose you. You have served me well, _messire_. And I hope it shall be many years before I have to find another servant. I regret that your sons will not inherit your blades."

_My children will be Assassins_, Giovanni thought. _When this is all over I shall take them-all of them-to Mario in Tuscany and have him teach them. But they will not be killers. I shall see to that_. He stared into the crackling flames. "You are most generous."

Lorenzo accepted the compliment gracefully, as he accepted most things. He inclined his head. "Now go. I fear these weeks ahead will be busy ones. See your family, Giovanni."

"My lord." Giovanni withdrew.

He made his way down the backstairs without bothering with a lantern and let himself out into the street.

He had never expected that Lorenzo might expect his sons to follow in his name. De'Medici, although astute, was not an Assassin. But Giovanni had served Lorenzo well.

_Maybe too well. He is a good man, but his successors, the men my sons will serve, may not be._

Giovanni flicked his wrist and felt the hidden blade spring out. There was only a stub of shining metal where there should have been a dagger. Some men would have taken the shattering of his blade as an omen. Giovanni was not so superstitious. He'd have to fix the weapon.

_I look forwards to the day when I can sheathe it for good_, he thought as he contemplated a future when he could truly be what he appeared; when the fireplace in his study would rust closed and his sons would fight the Templars in a more civilized manner than he had done. Lorenzo had taught him that there were other ways to fight; the slow wars of borrowing and lending, interest and credit and usury that drain money rather than blood.

_And though it's true that none of them have shown an aptitude for finance, there's still time..._

Although maybe not enough time, in Federico's case.

He tried not to think of what would happen if Lorenzo chose to press his case. Which of his sons would he choose? Petruccio was too sick by far; a cold comfort. Which one, then? Federico was older, but Ezio had the Eagle vision. Both? Neither?

Giovanni shook his head. _Lorenzo's politicking must be affecting me. I am not usually so introspective._ He slipped into a quiet alley and climbed to the rooftops. His hands ached. It was not cold enough for frost but Giovanni could feel the cold in the joints of his fingers.

_I am getting old_, he thought as he jogged swiftly across tiles that many a younger man could not have negotiated. He'd left the window of his study open, just in case. It was getting late. Maria would already have retired to bed. His sons should have been in bed too, but Giovanni doubted he would find them. Even a cold night such as this was often insufficient to prevent Ezio from venturing out to meet a girl or Federico to visit a tavern.

Giovanni jumped over a narrow alley and continued on.

He could tell when he had reached his palazzo by the sound of his boots on the familiar tiles. Knuckles white, he lowered himself onto the narrow balcony outside and pushed the window wider, listening. The house was quiet.

Giovanni slid the window open and climbed into his study. He stowed the broken blade and his Assassin's clothing neatly into the chest and changed into his usual clothing. Straightening his cravat, he brushed a speck of blood from the back of his hand and went in search of his family.

He found Federico in the _sala_, staring at the chessboard like it had insulted him. A jug of wine stood on the table next to his elbow. Federico startled as Giovanni ghosted across the floorboards, and nearly knocked his glass over.

"Where's Ezio?"

Federico shrugged unsteadily. He blinked and stared up at Giovanni's face. "What did the soldiers want, sir?'

"A misunderstanding. That's all. Go to bed."

Federico set his cup down and wobbled upright. He set off in the direction of his own room. Giovanni waited until he was sure Federico had turned in and went to check on his younger children. Claudia and Petruccio were asleep. Ezio's bed was empty.

Giovanni shook his head and pushed open the door to their bedroom.

The first thing he saw was the firelight gleaming from Maria's dark hair. She was seated in front of the fire, writing in her journal, but she looked up as Giovanni entered and laid down the book.

"I sent the servants away," she said."The children are in bed."

Giovanni frowned. "Ezio?"

"I sent him on some errands. He's not back yet?" When Giovanni shook his head she sighed. "You'll have to do something about him."

"What would you have me do?"

She smiled.

Giovanni kissed her.

Maria kissed him back, shrugging the robe from her shoulders. And then she tensed underneath his hands, and pushed him away.

'What's the matter, _amore mio_?"

"Giovanni-listen!"

They heard the sound of mailed feet on the cobbled road outside. Giovanni crept to the window. He pushed back the hangings and slid one shutter open. The clashing of armor intensified as the soldiers drew closer.

Giovanni held his breath and prayed they would pass by. He'd tried to plan everything, _everything_, but there were some things even he could not control.

He heard a knock at the door.

"One more thing I'll ask you, lord

You might need a murderer

Someone to do your dirty work

Don't act so innocent

I've seen you pound your fists into the earth

And I've read your books

Seems like you could use another fool."

Murderer: Low

Author's Note:

Set between the end of Lineage and the first part of the game. I wanted to explain why Giovanni never taught his own sons to be Assassins. This is why. Interestingly, the Italian for 'murderer' is _'assassino._'


End file.
